ELEMENTARY MY DEAR WATSON
by Aryea
Summary: First time writing for this show, but it is fast becoming one of my favorites. This won't be an ongoing story, more just a multitude of scenes between Joan and Sherlock as I develop them. Hope you like it anyway. Suggestions for scenes welcome!
1. Chapter 1

First attempt at an Elementary story, (This show is fast becoming my favorite). There won't be any sleuthing, this will just be scenes with Watson and Joan as I think of them. Hopefully you will enjoy them and if you do, please review! Characters belong to CBS and Robert Doherty. No infringement intended, this is all just for fun.

Also, if you are interested in more of my work, check out my new book Mary's Tears, on sale now at  books/view/281479 or my FB page Aryeahuntauthor.

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**SCENE ONE**

"WATSON!"

Joan flinched at the bellow from downstairs, threw her book on the bed, swung her legs to the floor and rushed downstairs; her heart in her throat as scenes of her unorthodox companion being crushed by one of his massive book cases or electrocuted by a short in one of his multiple television sets whirled through her mind.

She jumped past the last three stairs and skid to a halt in the living room. "Sherlock!"

"Forty-five seconds. Terrible. Absolutely terrible response time." Sherlock Holmes clicked the button on his stop watch and shook his head, grimly. He tsked, put his stop watch back in his pocket and noted something in the notebook in his other hand. "You'll have to do better, Watson."

Joan put a trembling hand to her pounding heart and glared at him furiously. "Are you freaking kidding me?" she growled at him. "You screamed like that to test my response time? I thought you were being crushed or electrocuted!"

"If I had been I quiet possibly would have perished from my injuries and obviously unable to count on speedy assistance from you."

She glowered at him and pointed her finger. You! You…you're…" She wanted to scream. She wanted to slap him in the head. Instead, she took a deep breath and tried to calm down. He wasn't trying to be insulting, she reminded herself, he was just being Sherlock Holmes.

"Sherlock, you…please don't do that again."

"I need to know you can be at my side at a moment's notice, Watson," he replied calmly, as he set his notebook on the table currently covered with the many locks awaiting his decision of how to hang them this week. He turned back and offered her a key chain with a button on it. "You'll need to carry this with you at all times."

She accepted it stared down at the medical alert fob. "Why?"

"In case you're injured and cannot call out." He smiled. "Simply press the button and my mobile will ring, so I may come to your aid. An ingenious device really and…" His words were quickly cut off as she threw the fob at him.

"I am not going to carry that around, and if you ever, ever scream like that again and aren't in some way being crushed, maimed or about to bleed to death I will personally break your neck!"

Sherlock scowled at her, confused as he bent to retrieve the fob. "It's for your safety…"

"We've had this discussion, Sherlock." She turned and moved back towards the stairs.

"I agreed to no longer conduct secret attacks, yes, however we did not agree that the issue of your safety was not still a concern…"

Joan paused with her hand on the banister and took several deep breaths. She knew it was his way of showing he cared, but he was driving her nuts! All her years as a doctor and then a sober companion and no one could shake her calm, until now. "I can handle myself, Sherlock."

"Not given your response time coming down the stairs. I sincerely doubt you would be able to outrun a suspect; should you be attacked and when I surprised you before you fell over your own feet…"

She fisted her hand as she struggled to remember her training. Sherlock didn't behave like a normal person and so a standard response would not always work. She moved away from the stairs and back into the living room until she was almost nose to nose with him, well, nose to chest at least.

She peered up at him. "I will say this once more," she vowed. "I appreciate your concern, Sherlock, I really do. I'm touched you're worried about me, but it isn't your job to get me in shape, teach me to fight or conduct scenarios to test my responses."

"Well, of course it is."

She blinked. "Why do you think that?"

"You work for my father, and thereby myself. As your employer it is my duty to ensure our safety. Added to that, you are my companion, a sober companion yes, but a companion nonetheless and you are here because I…" He paused for the barest of seconds. "Because my father believed I needed you to be here. Living here, being with me and assisting me with my work has put you in danger, therefore I am responsible to see to your defense skills. I can't be with you all of the time, Watson."

If anyone else had said such an egotistical, chauvinistic thing to her she would have properly put him in his place, however Joan realized that Sherlock truly believed what he said, he truly believed she was his responsibility and not the other way around. It would be endearing if it wasn't so frustrating.

"Sherlock, do you remember the basketball?"

He flinched ever so slightly as he recalled her smashing it into his face. "Ye-es."

"I can also do that with a bowling ball." She tilted her head. "Understood?"

He stepped back. "Understood."

"Good. Now, I am going back to reading my book."

He moved forward and held out the fob. "You forgot this."

"I'm not taking it, Sherlock."

"It isn't just for me, Watson. It's…it's for you as well." He held up a matching fob. "You see, mine shall ring to your phone, should I be kidnapped or incapacitated, which has happened on occasion." His eyes flickered with child-like uncertainty. "It only makes sense as you have refused my attempts to have you learn a martial art and…" His looked at the floor suddenly, then back up at her. "It would…make me feel more secure, as well."

"Really?"

He huffed. "Well, I'd hardly have the time to break in another sober companion, should you unexpectedly terminate and I'm quite certain my father would insist upon sending me another."

Joan sighed, for Sherlock Holmes, that was as close to him admitting he needed her as she was ever going to get. She accepted the fob again, but decided not to let him off the hook so easily. He really had to learn there were consequences. "Okay. I'll carry it, but…" She paused trying to think of a suitable punishment. "You have to watch a marathon of Castle with me, and then the new shows every week once you're caught up."

Sherlock stared at her horrified. "You can't be serious!"

"That's the agreement or you can take your fob and shove it…"

"But that show is preposterous!" Sherlock protested. "The man is a mystery writer and he thinks he can solve homicides? It is an insult to anyone who holds even a semblance of true deductive reasoning. The writing is dull and inventive and there are so many gaps in the procedure that you could fit a weather balloon through and…"

"I like it." She stood her ground.

Sherlock fisted and released his hands in indecision. "He isn't even a real author, yet they have books out there with his name. It's all a lot of nonsense and as you know, Watson my time is precious and I never spend it on nonsense."

"It's a television show, it's not supposed to win a Pulitzer."

"It's a mind-numbing television show!"

"That's the deal. Take it or leave it."

Sherlock calculated the odds he could convince her to take the fob with charm or misdirection, and settled for a loophole instead. "Oh…very well…" He jumped forward. "But, you must carry the fob with you always and if there is ever a time you do not have it with you, I do not have to watch your horrific program."

Joan started to agree and then a vision of him bursting in on her in the shower demanding to see the little fob caused her to rethink it. "I'll have it on me whenever we go out somewhere, but I'm not going to carry it around in the house."

Her gaze told Sherlock that she was on to him. He was both disgruntled and delighted. She knew his methods, damn. "Agreed." He returned to his usual cocky self and turned away. "I'm hungry. Order something would you?"

Joan rolled her eyes and headed upstairs to find her cell phone.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Elementray not mine, but then you already know this! I simply couldn't resist this one, just a bit of sillyness. Enjoy!

**CHAPTER 2**

"And so the killer revealed herself," Sherlock reported calmly as he leaned against the wall of the interrogation room, his arms and ankles crossed with Watson standing to his left and Captain Gregson seated at the table across from the society wife that had killed her husband and tried to frame her step daughter for it. "If you are going to frame someone else for a crime, you might consider a less expensive perfume, or at the least, not wearing any while you're committing murder. Especially, when framing someone who is allergic to such perfumes and therefore never wears any at all."

Gregson rose as one of his officers entered the room. "Mrs. Branson-Steele, you are under arrest for the murder of Richard Steele…"

The polished, sophisticated woman, wrapped in a long fur coat, dripping with diamonds and smelling of Caron Poivre, the very scent that had put Sherlock on to her homicidal plo**t,** had been seated in bored silence at the dull grey interview table throughout Sherlock Holmes' reveal now suddenly snarled like an animal and lunged over the table at the murder consultant.

"You son of a bitch! I'll rip your throat O…Uggg!"

Joan Watson stepped between Sherlock and the enraged woman and socked her across the jaw, knocking the society woman backwards and causing her to tumble over the chair she had been in and slam against the wall.

"You hit me!" the woman wailed in shock and then to Gregson. "That bitch assaulted me!"

The officer that had entered hauled Mrs. Branson-Steele to her feet as Gregson closed his folder.

"Seems to me you charged forward into her fist," Gregson reported as he closed his folder, working hard to keep back his smile. "You should really be more careful about that." The woman started spurting threats and screaming for her lawyer as the Captain nodded to the officers now holding her. "Get her down to booking." He glanced at Sherlock and Joan. "Good job, both of you."

"Watson!" Sherlock, who had been stunned by Watson's interception, was now grinning like a three year old. "Whatever possessed you?"

Joan winced and caressed her knuckles. What in the name of God were doctors using for filler now, Botox mixed with concrete? That woman's face had been hard as stone. "She was going to let an innocent fifteen-year old go to jail for her," she stated as she picked up her purse. "She ticked me off."

"And here I was thinking you were being chivalrous and jumping to my aid. I am disappointed."

"You're constantly telling me you don't need my help," she tossed as he held open the door for her and they stepped out into the busy squad room. "Even though, I've tried to tell you that I can take care of myself."

"You wound me, Watson." Sherlock stopped by vending and reached into his pocket. "Of course I need you, when have I ever inferred otherwise?"

She watched a can of soda drop out of the machine. "Would you like dates and times?" She was startled when he gently took her right hand and placed the ice cold can against her sore knuckles.

"Now Watson, one of the reasons we work so well together is because you accept that I can be an egocentric insensitive beast," he reminded as they started back towards the exit. "Just as I accept that you have deliberately stunted your own intellectual growth."

Joan stopped and glared at him. "Excuse me?"

Sherlock continued down the stairs and pushed open the exit doors, waiting for her to catch up. "You became a sober companion to hide from your medical career because of the loss of a patient." When Joan stormed down the stairs and opened her mouth to berate him he held up a patient hand. "No one can fault you for this, I am sure it was a devastating time."

"I'm not stunted and I am _not_ hiding from anything, Sherlock!"

"Not anymore." He smiled as they stepped into the warm summer weather of New York. "You've accepted that your very best option was to become my protégé and so now your growth will continue and your true talents will flourish."

Joan rolled her eyes. "You're incredible."

"Of course I am."

"That wasn't a compliment."

"Perhaps not to you." He waved down a taxi and held the door for her. "Oh, Watson, let's not quibble. All of that is behind us, now that we're partners."

Joan ignored the gentle thrill his words gave her and opened her can of soda as Sherlock gave an address other than the one for their brownstone. "We're not going home?" she asked, surprised.

"I'm hungry. We've barely had a moment to think during this case, so I believe a nice dinner is in order." He smiled at her. "Kudos to you, by the way, for recognizing that scent. I never did ask how you knew what a perfume that costs a thousand dollars an ounce smells like. Especially as you seem to prefer a much more modest scent."

Joan didn't bother to ask how he knew what scent she wore or what it cost. "I received a small bottle of it one year as a gift," she explained. "I wore it once and broke out in a rash. Plus it smelled nice in the bottle, but horrible once it was on. I'm not likely to forget that smell."

"Well, I am sorry you were ill from it, but very grateful you did remember. You cracked the case, Watson!"

"Let's not go too far…" she muttered, knowing that her simple comment in the morgue wouldn't have meant anything without Sherlock's talent for putting pieces of a puzzle together. "You were the one who figured out how Mr. Steele actually died and about the wife's affair."

"It was a team effort, and one we should celebrate."

Joan gaped when the taxi pulled up to a very posh and exclusive restaurant. "You have to be kidding! There is no way we're getting a table here…"

"Nonsense." Sherlock paid the driver and caught her elbow to escort her to the door.

"I called ahead and made a reservation."

She blinked at him. "When?"

"Last night."

They'd only cracked the case that morning. "How could you know…?" Her words faded off as he simply stared at her and tilted his head. What was she thinking? Of course he knew they would solve the case…he was Sherlock Holmes. "The waiting list here is at least six months," she insisted. "Not even you could have…"

"Monsieur Miller!" a mustached, dapper looking maître d, dressed all in black, rushed forward, his arms wide. "We are so pleased to have you here! Your table is ready, exactly as you requested, if you will follow me."

Joan followed Sherlock and the maître d to a quiet, secluded booth, away from most of the other dinners, and no doubt one of their best and most expensive tables. "What did he call you?" she whispered to Sherlock even as the man fussed over them.

"Champagne, as you requested- non-alcoholic of course, and fresh strawberries." The maître d gushed. "And the cook is just finishing your meals."

"Thank you, I'm sure we'll enjoy it." Sherlock nodded and then waved the man away as he unfolded the swan that was his napkin and dropped it onto his lap.

Joan noticed that several people had watched them admiringly and started whispering as they made their way towards the booth and she knew something was up. "What did you do?"

"I made a reservation, as I said."

"Under whose name?" she hissed aggravated.

He shrugged. "Some people have mentioned that I resemble this actor fellow and what not. Therefore I felt the only way to procure a reservation here was to use that likeness to our benefit."

"Sherlock!"

"As you said, Watson, there is a six month waiting list to eat here and I find it foolish to wait so long simply to sample the food due to the snobbery of a select few."

"I cannot believe you! You're pretending to be some super star…"

"Oh, I wouldn't concur that he's a super star…a rising one, perhaps."

Joan gaped at him and crossed her arms over her chest, indignantly. "A lie is a lie…"

"Indeed, however it is just as much a lie for this establishment to claim that there is a six month waiting list when I witnessed several empty tables as we passed. A lie for the sake of deceiving a truthful person is one thing, however a lie to one who is already perpetrating a falsehood is perfectly acceptable."

Joan shook her head at him in disbelief, and then felt her stomach growl as two plates of delicious food were placed before them. It smelled like heaven!

"So, Watson," Sherlock began as he picked up his fork. "Are you going to sit there, hungry and indignant, or are you going to enjoy our most recent accomplishment?"

Joan could no sooner have cut off her own arm then resist the temptation of the food. "This doesn't mean I agree with you. You can't pretend to be someone you aren't, Sherlock…"

"I heartily concur," he replied as he sliced off a piece of his filet minion and popped it into his mouth. "And I'm delighted you have stopped pretending to be a sober companion and are finally on your true path."

Joan considered stabbing him with her fork, then sighed and dug into her meal. Arguing with Sherlock was the equivalent of running up hill during a mudslide with banana peels on your feet, in a windstorm. You never really got anywhere.

"Oh and Watson?"

She glanced at him.

"Call me Johnny while we're here, won't you?"

She dipped her head and hid a grin.


End file.
